Many Glories: A Harry Potter Crackfic
by SorenGladfeldt
Summary: Harry and Luna's son, Greg, is instead sent off to the Clone of Hogwarts in the Dimension on the Other Side of the Mirror. The epilogue means nothing.
1. Episode 1: Off to School

**Episode #1: Off to School**

It was a lush morning; the birds did sing and the trees were breezing as young Gregory Brady Potter woke up.

"Good morning, my son," said Luna, his dear mother, as she entered the room.

"Good morning, mother," said Greg as he let out a final yawn before he began to greeting the morning. He then climbed from his bed and stepped over to his magical dresser, with which he managed to get dressed in virtually no time at all. He then slid down the firepole to the hallway below, where Dobby, the family dwarfslave, greeted him.

"Greetings, my dear master Gregory!" he said, bowing so that his long elfnose sproynged against the floor.

"Hi'ya, Dobby," said Greg, patting the little elf man atop his head.

In the kitchen sat his father, the great and all-powerful Harry Potter, he who defeated the infamous and most dreaded of all He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and saved all wizarding Britain. He was sitting at the table, smoking a pipe, reading _Der Spiegel_ and enjoying the pancakes which his wife Luna had instructed Dobby to prepare for them.

"Hello, my dear son!" he said, looking up from his German publication. "Are you ready for your first day of school?"

"Of course I am, father," said Greg. "I've been preparing for it for o so long!"

Harry magiked all their bags together, and they piled into a car not unlike the one in which Ron had so long ago rescued Harry from his most evil extended family and in which they flew to Hogwarts upon missing the train. The Potters, in their flying Camaro, flew to the city, where they entered the great train station.

"Here we are, my son!" said Harry, gesturing to the broom closet where they were to enter.

"I'm so proud of you, sweety," said Luna, kissing her young son, who looked a combination of her and her husband, Harry.

They stepped through the door into a realm where the train that was to take the children to the new Hogwarts sat waiting to go. You could truly feel the locomotive's excitement as it steamed at the platform.

"Our little boy's going off to school!" Luna beamed as her husband Harry smoked his pipe, also beaming with joy.

"I'm so proud of the little guy," he said between puffs. "I know he'll do so well!"

Young Greg Brady Potter kissed his mother and father goodbye, and ran to the train to board. It was then and only then that the conductor called out, "All aboard!" and the train gave a jolt and began moving. It then quickly gained speed and shot through the magical mirror at the end of the platform, and parents all waved and called out in farewell until the last car had passed through the mirror and was gone from this world.

The train was now in the Dimension-on-the-Other-Side-of-the-Mirror.

Greg sat by the window, looking out it at the trees singing and the birds swaying in the breeze as the train shot by. The Dimension-on-the-Other-Side-of-the-Mirror was an interesting place. It was like the world he was native to, only… reversed; even though not really. The clouds resembled various intriguing shapes: a robot, a crown, a squirrel, Pope John Paul II, and even, most surprisingly, a fish.

Just then, the train stopped suddenly. Greg Brady Potter was thrown forward suddenly.

"What the!?"

Just then, a girl came in and sat down across from him. She had straight, curly hair of a color too bizarre to even attempt to begin describing, and she had rainbow eyes that seemed infinitely deep.

"Good morrow," she said.

"Hi," said Greg, too taken aback by her indescribably indescribable beauty to reply intelligently.

"I am Corlessa Kingsfield and I am from Swedmark," she said.

"I'm Greg Potter," said Greg.

They began to start talking, when shortly a man entered the cabin. He wore an oddly mixed outfit that looked as though it were made out of a dirty green suit and black robes that had been stitched awkwardly together; and he looked like some sort of bizarre combination of two people Greg recognized—but could sadly not recall—from photos his father had shown him.

"Good morrow, my children," he said to them. "I am Sevmus Lupnape, and I am going to be a teacher at the clone of Hogwarts on the other side of the mirror! I used to be Severus Snape and Remus Lupin, but then we realized that were most deeply in love, and decided to fuse together into one individual."

"I'm Gregory Potter," said Greg, extending his hand, which Professor Lupnape then did shake most eagerly.

"Hark!" said Lupnape. "I cannot believe me ears that I am looking upon the son of the great Harry Potter, who liberated us all from the evil clutches of He-Whom-I'd-Really-Rather-Not-Say-His-Name-Because-It-Creeps-The-Fuck-Out-Of-Me and ushered in a new wizarding golden age!"

"I am Corlessa Kingsfield," said the little girl, "and I am—"

"You're from the land of Swedmark!" said Lupnape. "Oh you are a most lucky little lass indeed, myne child. You are one of the first students from Swedmark the clone of Hogwarts on the other side of the mirror has ever had! Are the things which I have heard of Swedmark true, young lady?"

"Well," said Corlessa, "in Swedmark, the trees are lollipops and candy canes, and the birds are peeps, and the rivers run with limeade, and the houses are made out of gingerbread, and the log cabins are made out of cinnamon sticks, and the clouds are made out of cotton-candy; and all the cars, boats, and planes are tinfoil, and the government requires that everyone own a collie-dog but shave him bare, and—"

"Oh, the gods, please don't go on!" cried Sevmus, looking faint. "I cannot bear to hear any more of that despotic nation! Believeth me, dear child, ye hath myne fullest sympathies for your origins!"

"Cool," said Corlessa.

Eventually, things did calm back down as Greg and Corlessa began playing with Yu-Gi-Oh! cards and Lupnape took out a newspaper apparently titled _Güttlåggé-Værnenðøð_, when Greg noticed the headline:

_**PŒPŁ ĈÜŹÈИ BARITT OBAMNEY ŒTŘ PЯÆZDËÑT**_

Beneath the headline was a picture (which did move because it was magical) of a man waving to the crowds. He looked like a person of mixed ethnicity, but had been sloppily mixed in a hasty and crude manner.

"Professor Lupnape," said Greg, "who is that?"

"Oh that?" asked Sevmus, pointing at the picture on the front page. "That, myne child, is Baritt Obamney, the President of the Dimension on the Other Side of the Mirror."

"Is he a good president?" asked Corlessa.

"Oh," said Lupnape, eyes glazing over somewhat, "he is a _great_ president. He is the first president, in fact, to come out as in favor of fused-peoples' rights! Verily, these are great times to be living in."

There once were times in the Dimension on the Other Side of the Mirror where just because two people had chosen to fuse together and become one individual, they were scorned and demonized by society. They often had to go into hiding. Thankfully, said days were mostly over.

"Are people ever mean to you because you're a fused person, Professor Lupnape?" asked Greg.

"Not particularly often, no," said Lupnape. "Thankfully people arte more tolerant now than in times since passed."

"What are fused-people-bars like, Professor?" asked Corlessa innocently.

"That, myne childe," said Lupnape quickly, "I shalt tell you when you are older—look, there's President Obamney now!"

And sure enough, at that time, the man from the photo on the front of _Güttlåggé-Værnenðøð_ came flying up alongside the train, clad in patriotically coloured tights and a cape, his teeth glinting in the wind.

"Good morrow, myne people!" the man called out. "It is I, Baritt Obamney!"

Gregory, Corlessa, and Sevmus all jumped to the window to wave to the super-president. He waved and smiled at them before flying onward and out of sight.

"Wow!" said Greg, "That was so cool!"

"Didn't I tellst thou that he was great?!" exclaimed Lupnape eagerly.

"I wish our leader in Swedmark could fly," said Corlessa, a bit sadly.

"Who is the leader of Swedmark?" asked Greg.

"His name is Clint Bushton," said Corlessa, "and he's really, really angry and he loves coming on TV and yelling at us and will sometimes make young girls come to his palace to be his wifeslaves. My dad said I don't have to go because we pay a special tax of fifteen jellybeans and one of those jelly-filled strawberry candies a day.

"That sounds awful," said Greg, feeling a bit scared now.

"Yes," said Corlessa, "but the time that I broke my leg tripping over a felled candy cane, I got into a hospital totally for free."

"Yes," said Sevmus, turning up his lip, "well here in the Dimension on the Other Side of the Mirror, we don't believe in evil ideas like socialism."

"Look, there's the castle!" said Greg, pointing out the window.

**Stay tuned for Episode 2…**


	2. Episode 2: Hogwarts

**Episode #2: Hogwarts**

There it was: the clone of Hogwarts on the other side of the mirror. It was, like the original Hogwarts, a large and ancient-looking castle. However, do to the makeup of the Dimension on the Other Side of the Mirror, it did not sit by a lake (even though it sort of did), and the sky was closer to the ground—resulting in some of the pointy tips of the castle's highest towers punching holes in parts of the sky.

The train finally came to a sudden stop, which hurled everyone forward, and the conductor came through and yelled, "Everybody off! Welcome to the clone of Hogwarts!"

"Oh boy," exclaimed Sevmus Lupnape, "my first day of work!" He promptly grabbed up his bags and shot out of the compartment, leaving Gregory and Corlessa alone together.

"I wonder what he teaches," said Corlessa to Greg.

"I dunno…" said Greg without really thinking, as he was too busy fantasizing about grabbing Corlessa in his arms and kissing the beautiful Swedmarkish girl's beautiful face and touching with his fingers those tender young boobies he could see creating small mounds on the field of the front of her pink sweater with an image of a green poodle embroidered on the front. He had witnessed his father, Harry, fondling his mother, Luna, while they were watching _Lilyhammer_ before snæking off to their bedroom for something of which young Gregory was not entirely sure what they did.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, snapping Greg out of his lovetrance. They walked out of the compartment together.

They stepped into what was named by the sign above the door leading into it _The Greatest of All Halls_, where they found four tables lined up and headed by another table at which sat many people who were presumably the teachers of Clonewarts.

The ancient man at the center of the table sat up.

"Good morrow, students," he said. "Welcome to the Clone of Hogwarts on the Other Side of the Mirror. I am Professor Dubleclone, a clone of the original Professor Dumbledore. And these among our new staff this year, we have Professor Lupnape, our new teacher of the Hopelandic language; Professor Vadermort, our new gym teacher; and Mr. Vernon, our new janitor."

The young students clapped and the sorting hat appeared to place them into their respective houses.

"Kingsfield, Corlessa!" called Professor MacGonaclone, after ticking through the names of various other students with whom this story is not particularly concerned.

Corlessa ran up. Young Gregory Brady Potter was mesmerized by the way her young hips swayed back and forth, the way that delectable rump of hers supported her pleated skirt, the way those boobies bounced as she pranced up the steps to the stage-thingy where the sorting hat sat, the way—

"Gryffyndoor!" called the hat; and Corlessa's uniform magikally transmogrified into a Gryffyndoor uniform.

Several more unimportant names were called, until finally…

"Potter, Gregory!" called Professor MacGonaclone, holding the hat out as she ticked her way down the list of names.

Greg ran up, managing to only trip once, and sat down atop that stool. He looked out, and saw Corlessa sitting there at the Gryffyndoor table, looking so majestically immaculate, as if an angel chucked from heaven—only more sensual—oh how he so deeply longed to run up behind her, clasp her by the rump, and—

"Somebody's an early bloomer," said the hat in Greg Brady Potter's ear.

_That's right,_ the boy thought, _the hat can read my thoughts…_

"Damn right I can," it said. "Potter, eh? I can tell from your memories and the striking lack of persons in this dimension named Potter that you are the son of the great and almighty Harry Potter, slayer of evil and winner of the good fight for all of eternity who did liberate the whole of wizarding Britain from the clutches of the hideous He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-Even-Though-It-Doesn't-Really-Matter-Anymore-Thanks-To-The-Work-Of-Your-Father-The-Great-And-All-Powerful-Harry-Potter, and lit the candle to be placed in the lamp of hope for all generations to come. He was in the original Hogwarts' equivalent of Gryffyndoor. Do you belong in Gryffyndoor House? That, my child, is for _me_ to decide. You might not be Gryffyndoor material. Maybe you instead belong in Huffandpuff House, or Raveandbrawl, or just for the fuck of it I could put you in Slytherout—"

_I wanna be in Gryffyndoor with Corlessa,_ Greg thought to the hat.

"Ah yes, of course. You want to be in the same house as Miss Kingsfield so that you'll have a better chance of getting to molest the poor girl."

_No, I swear!_ Begged Greg.

"I saw your thoughts, boy."

_I love Corlessa, I swear. I wanna do all that stuff to her like my dad does to my mom and be happy like they are! I wanna grow up and marry her and us be Mr. and Mrs. Gregory and Corlessa Potter and have a house with her and carry her thru the door and start touching her when we're watching _Lilyhammer_ and she starts giggling and we snæk off to our bedroom to do stuff I don't even know—_

"You met the girl four hours ago, kid."

_And I wanna be in the same damn house as her, and if you put me in friggin' Slytherout or Huffandpuff, I promise I'll snæk into your room in the night and stæl you and throw you in the furnace!_

"Well fuck," said the hat, "don't throw a temper tantrum. Fine, fine… GRYFFYNDOOR!" the hat finally announced.

_Yay!_ Gregory Brady Potter cheered internally as he pranced over to sit by Corlessa, tripping twice on the way over.

"Hi, Greg!" said Corlessa, pushing aside a random child to make room for Greg.

"Hi'ya, Corlessa," thought Greg, shaking and knees quaking like the oatmæl man.

"I wonder what this year will be like," she wondered aloud.

That night, all the students donned the feeted pyjamas which the school had given each of them, and were sent off to their dorms. Said dorms were gender-segregated.

As he lay in bed, young Greg Brady Potter couldn't stop thinking of Corlessa Kingsfield, the girl from Swedmark. He had smuggled in a picture of Angela Merkel he liked to hold up with one hand sometimes, but Corlessa beat her by a _long shot!_ Fantasies of _Frau_ Chancellor simply couldn't get him up anymore.

As our horny young hero was lying in bed, in another part of the castle, meanwhile, "Professor" Vadermort and "Mr." Vernon were in their underground lair at the top of the highest tower, which was so high that its spire tore a particularly conspicuous hole in the sky, talking.

"Baritt Obamney is now president of the Dimension on the Other Side of the Mirror!" fumed Vadermort, who chucked a chicken bone at Vernon, which impacted with his cranium and created a somewhat noticeable bump.

"Now that _he's_ in charge, all those stupid fused people are gonna be able to do whatever the hell they want!" said Vadermort angrily.

Here is the scoop on Vadermort, by the way: If you thought that Voldemort was the most evil, then you were wrong—dead wrong. How evil and powerful is Vadermort? Well, take Voldemort and multiply his power and evil by a hundred-thousand and you'll get someone who doesn't even _begin_ to compare to the evil and power of Vadermort!

"But I hath a plan," said Vadermort to his manslave, Vernon.

"Are you gonna assassinate him?" asked Vernon.

"Correct, myne dear Vernon," said Vadermort. "I shall give you a _special treat_ as a reward later. Now, you may be wondering as to just _how_ I plan to assassinate President Obamney. No?"

"Are you gonna poison him?" asked Vernon, "Or maybe we could coat his tights and cape in magnetic dust and wait for him to get sucked into the jet engine of a passing airliner!"

"NO!—though I admit, I do like that last idea," said Vadermort. "Instead, I am going to have his evil twin murder him!" Vadermort turned toward the door and yelled, "You can come in, now!"

Just then, the door fall down and a man stepped in who looked just like Baritt Obamney; except his hair was parted the opposite way, his right eye was a laser, he walked with a bizarre limp, and his joints sounded somewhat machine-line as he moved. His mouth was, because of a metal apparatus on his jaw, eternally frozen in the condescending smile of a politician who's glad-handing the people. Though you could not see it, in his rump was an exhaust pipe from which foul-smelling fumes did emit.

"I am Mirack Rombama," said the evil twin in an electrical voice.

"And is it not true that you enjoy killing things?" asked Vadermort.

"Affirmatory," said Rombama. "In fact, it is my life's dream to kill everyone in the galaxy and eat them for breakfast."

"Very good, very good," said Vadermort. "I need you to assassinate your good twin, Baritt Obamney. Can you do that?"

"Affirmatory," said Rombama. "I will be more than happy to exterminate my good twin. He always got Mom and Dad's love and I was left with nothing. The only times I ever got an ice cream cone was when Baritt dropped one and Mom and Dad bought him another and let me have the one that fell on the ground. That is why I enjoy killing so much."

"Excellent!" said Vadermort. "How will you accomplish the task?"

"Well," said Rombama, "I might use this," and his right hand withdrew into his sleeve and from said sleeve shortly emerged a chainsaw. "Or this," he said, and lifted his left foot off the floor, which promptly was replaced by a machine gun. "Or maybe I will do him in like this:" and he rotated his head 19 degrees to face the chimichanga that Vernon and Vadermort had cooking on a George Foreman Grill™, and used his right eye-beam to incinerate it to a small pile of ash. Vernon promptly began weeping.

"Stop your blubbering, you pathetic, chimichanga-obsessed loser!" yelled Mirack Rombama, who then slapped Vernon, causing him to crawl into the corner, whimpering.

"Mirack," shouted Vadermort angrily at his hitman, "I will not tolerate you abusing myne manslave! Only _I_ get to slap him!"

"Just tell me where I can find my good twin," said Rombama dismissively.

"I dunno," said Vadermort, "just wonder around the castle for a while and you should run into him eventually."

"Off I go," said Rombama, who then began hobbling out the door and off to find his target.

"I-I-I-I b-b-bought that chimichanga with my whole payczech," wept Vernon.

"Fuckin' bastard," said Vadermort. "That was the only damn food we had! My payczech as gym teacher doesn't come in 'til the end of the week."

Next morning, Mirack Rombama was still searching, to no avail. That's when he encountered Dumbleclone.

"Excuse me, my good man," he said, "but I can't help but notice that you are limping. Is something the matter?"

"Uh, no, not at all…" said Rombama, trying to get this man off his back, "just an injury I sustained in the war—"

"We need to get you to the infirmary!" said Dumbleclone, not listening and taking Rombama by the hand to drag him away against his will.

Greg was sitting in the infirmary after an accident in transmogrification class that turned his feet into wheels. As the rotund nurse worked with her backside to the Potterchild, Greg could not help but appreciate her beautiful bulbous gluteus Maximus. _I wish she could sit on me…_ thought Greg, getting turned on by the idea.

Just then, Dumbleclone burst in, dragging Rombama behind him.

"Nurse," he said, "I need you to examine this man straight away! He's limping and sounds as the he's swallowed a See-N-Say!"

"No, really," Mirack pleaded, "I'm alright—"

"Don't be silly now," said the nurse. "This will only take a moment. Just sit there on that bed and everything will be fine while I have a looksy."

After much medical practice which would be pointless to detail, the nurse finally slammed the hood shut and said, "Well, sir, you're loaded with machinery; but that would require full-out surgery to remove—"

"You do not have permission to remove myne accessories and I do not need surgery!" declared Mirack Rombama.

"Alright," said the nurse, "then here's your bill."

"Bill?" asked Mirack Rombama. "How much do I—TWO THOUSAND CROUTONS!? You honestly expect me to pay ₢2,000 just for you to check me over?! Are you mad?!"

"You'd better have really good insurance," she said.

"This is a travesty!" cried Rombama, "Charging people for medical service that may be necessary for their own survival! The law requires that everyone have access to electricity, water, and postal service; why not healthcare? For this utter blasphemy against human dignity, I will make you myne first victim in myne massacre of Clonewarts!"

"Young Potter," cried Dumbleclone, "run for your life, child! We will hold him off for you!" Greg Brady Potter ran for it while Rombama began using his accessories to attack the infirmary staff.

Later at lunch, Dumbleclone was sitting at the table, looking somewhat cut up and bruised, but also quite relieved.

"Students, a rather funny-in-a-horrific-sort-of-way thing happened in the infirmary this morning—"

"So what happened next?" asked Corlessa, who was sitting next to Greg.

"Well, then the robot-man started ranting about healthcare and said he was going to kill them for charging him money, and Dumbleclone told me to run for it. I dunno what happened next."

"—hopefully that broom closet's door is good and strong," chuckled Dumbleclone as he finished recounting Rombama's attack.

After lunch, the students were busying themselves walking about the halls because for some reason there were no classes at that particular moment, when young Scorpius Malfoy, whose parents had also elected to try sending him to the new Hogwarts in the Dimension on the Other Side of the Mirror, was taunting a pair of students, whom he had discovered planned to fuse together when they came of age.

"Ha-ha!" he scoffed, pointing at them meanly. "Fused freaks! Fused freaks! Get a life, losers!"

"Please, stop!" said the first child, tears forming in their eyes.

"You're hurting our feelings!" the other one pleaded.

Just then, the old wooden door in the hall that was covered in ornate carvings was kicked into pieces by Baritt Obamney, clad once again in patriotically-coloured tights and a cape, who then charged at the Malfoychild and began to chew him out.

"Young boy," said the president of the Dimension on the Other Side of the Mirror, "you have no right to bully people just because they want to fuse together when they grow up! It's none of your business if two people decided that they want to become a single individual. Now be gone from myne sight and I don't want to see or hear about you harassing young soon-to-be-fused-people."

The Malfoy heir, now looking genuinely freaked out, turned and ran off as fast as his young pureblooded feet could carry him. _I could'a gone to regular Hogwarts,_ he thought to himself as he went, _but NOOO! Momma and Daddy wanted to try sending me to the new place in the Dimension on the Other Side of the Mirror!_

"Thank you so much, President Obamney!" the two soon-to-be-fuseds cheered.

"All part of my job, children," said Obamney, smiling proudly; his teeth glinting even without any wind.

"As much as I appreciate your efforts to combat bullying, President Obamney," said Dumbleclone, walking up, "I think you should know that in doing so, you destroyed a very old and very expensive door."

"Well, Professor Dumbleclone," said Obamney, unfazed, "it was destroyed in the process of promoting fused-peoples' rights—and that makes everything okay!"

"Baritt Obamney, thou art going to die!" called an electric-sounding voice.

"Oh no…" said Dumbleclone, a look of terror in his eyes as he recognized the voice.

"Who the…?" asked Obamney, looking around, only to find Mirack Rombama entering the scene, with an _'I'm-gonna-totally-fucking-kill-you'_ expression on his face.

"Here's trouble…" said Obamney, trying to keep his cool.

"Run for your young lives, students!" cried Dumbleclone to the frightened children, "NOW!"

Rombama then replaced his right hand with a chainsaw, and began running at Obamney, who took off down the hall, running for his life. Rombama knew just how to head him off: he held out his left hand, which then shot toward the ceiling, a rope trailing behind it, and grabbed hold of a gargoyle. He then leapt up and swung through the air, and at this time replaced his left foot with that machine gun and yelled out once again, "Baritt Obamney, thou art going to die!" as he swung toward his good twin, more than ready and eager to kill.

"Holy cannoli's!" screamed Obamney in terror, as he ducked Rombama's chainsaw-hand, just barely retaining his head; and leaping aside the spray of bullets from Rombama's leg-gun.

He then scrambled down the hall and into the girls bathroom.

"You're not allowed in here!" screamed a girl within.

"Don't worry, miss," said Obamney, "I'm the president. That makes everything okay."

"Fucktron," spat Rombama, outside as he looked at the door. "You may be safe in there, Baritt Obamney, but you will have to come out eventually…"

Many hours passed and Obamney didn't come out, and Rombama was getting incredibly bored.

"This is so utterly idiotic," he said. "I am going to go find another, more interesting target." And he hobbled off to do so.

After a long trip up an absurd number of staircases that were constantly shifting, only making navigation more difficult, Rombama finally got to the highest tower of the castle. He hobbled to a modest wooden door at the end of the hallway, and knocked on it loudly.

Vadermort answered.

"Yes, can I—" he saw who it was. "Oh, Rombama. Hast thou slain Baritt Obamney yet?"

"He hid in the girls' lavatory and I got sick of waiting for that cowardly bastard; so I decided to find another target to slaughter in the meantime," said Rombama.

"What the hell are you talking about?" asked Vadermort.

Suddenly, Mirack Rombama swung his chainsaw at Vadermort, who just narrowly avoided losing his head.

"What the fuck art thou doingest!?" demanded Vadermort. I hired you! I'm your client! Why do you want to kill _me?"_

"Don't you remember my life's dream?" asked Rombama. "I want to kill everyone in the galaxy and eat them for breakfast. Last I checked, _you_ are also in this galaxy!"

"Oh piggy-winkles," said Vadermort, realizing the logical consequences of hiring an omnicidal madman.

"—and that, students," said Professor Lupnape, "is how to ask, 'when is the next bus from Reykjavik to Oslo?' in Hopelandic."

The class simply sat there and said nothing. Suddenly there was a ruckus out in the hall.

"I say," said Lupnape, going to the door, "what is all that racket?"

He opened the door, and discovered Professor Vadermort and Mr. Vernon running through the corridor, in a panic, with Mirack Rombama in hot, hobbling pursuit.

"Vadermort, what the hell are you and Vernon doing?" demanded Lupnape.

"Mirack Rombama's loose in the castle!" cried Vadermort. "So unless you wanna get slaughtered alive and eaten, you'd better fuckin' run as fuckin' fast as your fuckin' feet can fuckin' carry you!"

Just then Rombama appeared round a corner, chainsaw for one hand, machine gun for another, and eye-beam firing in all directions.

"This school will make a good galactic appetizer!" he chortled evilly.

"Oh my gods!" screamed Lupnape in horror. He turned to his class. "Run, children, run! Some sort of murderous madman named Mirack Rombama is loose in the school and out for your young blood!"

The children, naturally, flew into a collective panic and the room filled with many high-pitched screams as they fled out into the hall, only to end up joining Vadermort and Vernon in being chased by Rombama.

"Clearly this wasn't my best of ideas…" said Lupnape sheepishly as he realized that he had just put 38 students in even more risk than they were in before he said anything.

"Just keep running and maybe we can escape him or he'll get bored and look for somebody else!" said Vadermort.

"Good idea!" said Lupnape.

They kept running.

Through hallway after hallway, corridor after corridor, up and down staircase after staircase, the crowd of Vadermort, Vernon, Lupnape, and 38 Hopelandic class students (which included Gregory and Corlessa) ran for their lives as Mirack Rombama, the man-who-wanted-to-devour-a-galaxy, kept in pursuit.

"It is all worth it, Mirack," he said to himself, "once you finally capture them, you will eat like a king."

Finally, the crowd on the run ran out of hallway and discovered that they were cornered.

"OH FUCK!" screamed Vadermort.

"Please, not in front of the children!" scolded Lupnape.

"Corlessa," cried Greg Brady Potter, "strip off your clothes and let me go inside you!"

"What?!" exclaimed Corlessa, honestly baffled at this demand.

"Do you wanna die a virgin?!" demanded Greg.

"What's that?" asked Corlessa.

"I dunno," said Greg (he was telling the truth), "I heard it in a movie I watched behind the couch once."

Mirack Rombama hobbled closer and closer to them, a look of murder in his eyes (albeit that was the only look his eyes ever had in them).

"Well," said Vernon, "it's been nice knowing you all." He began to weep.

Just then, Rombama suddenly slowed down, ground to a halt, and his chainsaw stopped spinning, his machine gun stopped firing, and his laser-eye went dead as he fell into a limp position.

"What the…?" asked Lupnape.

"This is typical," said Baritt Obamney, flying onto the scene.

"What?" asked everyone in unison.

"His batteries ran out," the president of the Dimension on the Other Side of the Mirror explained. "This used to always happen when we were kids; we'd be playing dodge ball or something, and Mirack's batteries would always need changing just as things were getting good. When we were little, I would need my nappies changed, while he would need his batteries changed—and he still needs 'em!"

"So…" asked Lupnape, "what should we do with him?"

"I dunno," said Obamney. "Let's just stuff him in a closet somewhere and forget about him. He can't hurt us if his batteries are dead and nobody changes them."

"Sounds like a plan to me," said Vadermort.

So the group went over, picked up Mirack Rombama, and carted him off to a broom closet, threw him inside, closed and locked the door, and continued with their daily routine. And sure enough, Rombama did not wake up and try to kill anyone.

**Stayed tuned for next week's episode of **_**Many Glories!**_


End file.
